


love will make us stronger

by asael



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 15:22:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20744387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asael/pseuds/asael
Summary: After the war, after years apart during which their feelings only grew stronger, Hilda and Marianne reunite.





	love will make us stronger

**Author's Note:**

> Yes hello, I love these two and it's been far too long since I had a chance to write f/f. Jumping back in with some soft girlfriends in love.

Marianne handed her cloak to the butler at the door, shivering as a chill crept in over the threshold. It was cold outside, a hint of snow in the air as the sun set, but inside everything was bright and warm.

She smiled at the servant, a small thing, and extended her invitation.

“No need, milady,” he said with a bow. “We all knew that Margrave Edmund would be attending. You are our guest of honor.”

“Oh,” she said, a quiet breath of surprise, though she knew she shouldn’t be. Her estate - well, first her father’s and now hers - had been supporting these academies since the beginning. Of course she would be known to them, of course she would be expected. Silly of her.

She walked into the main hall of the academy. Light glittered everywhere, clever contraptions made to capture the light from candles and spread it across the hall, showcasing so many beautiful things that Marianne couldn’t take it all in.

She walked from one object to the next, captivated. There was a rug woven in colors so brilliant and bright that it almost hurt her eyes. Then, on the next table, a delicately-wrought iron lantern, more a work of art than anything practical. On the next table, nothing - because the table itself was the showpiece, carved as if it were a waterfall cascading to the ground. It was so realistic Marianne thought for a moment that if she closed her eyes she might feel the spray.

“That one’s my favorite,” said a voice behind her, and Marianne turned, unable to keep the smile from her face.

“Hilda,” she said, and then Hilda’s arms were around her. After all these years, Marianne was still not nearly so open as her friend, so for a moment she wasn’t sure what to do - but then she knew, and she hugged Hilda in return.

Hilda was soft and warm, and she smelled amazing. She always had, her skill with perfumes practically an art of its own. Marianne couldn’t put a finger on any of the scents that filled her head, but it set her thoughts spinning, warmed her whole body.

Or maybe that was just Hilda’s proximity.

“I’m so glad you made it,” Hilda said, pulling away with a smile. 

“Of course I did,” Marianne said, answering that smile with her own, more hesitant version. “You’re opening your first academy within our territory - and only a short ride from my estate. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

Hilda’s first artisan academies had been founded in main cities: Derdriu, Enbarr, Fhirdiad. Then she’d expanded across Fódlan, wherever demand seemed strong, and now - finally - to Edmund.

“It took me long enough,” Hilda said with a laugh. Her eyes traveled over Marianne, gaze as keen as it had ever been. Under her attention, Marianne wasn’t sure whether she wanted to blush or shiver. Hilda had always managed to bring a flush to her cheeks, but recently it had gotten much worse.

Marianne thought of the letters Hilda had sent, and felt warm.

“Look at you,” Hilda said, and she reached out, her perfectly painted nails brushing against the ornament in Marianne’s hair. “They really suit you perfectly.”

There hadn’t been an accessory with each letter Hilda had sent, but no birthday or celebration seemed to go by without one arriving, bundled up in a prettily-wrapped package. Hair ornaments, like the one Marianne wore now. Necklaces. Bracelets. A draped belt of wrapped silver chains, nearly as thin as a thread. 

More than Marianne could have possibly worn all at once, and so she’d chosen carefully for tonight.

She wore a gray dress, plain and unadorned, but cut to perfectly accentuate her figure without showing it off too much - still something Marianne wasn’t comfortable with. It had no lace, no ruffles, nothing but smooth lines, because all she’d wanted to do was use it to show off Hilda’s work.

In her hair was the first thing Hilda had ever sent her. A delicate hair ornament - a lily made of twisted golden wire with small clear jewels here and there along its petals. Compared to some of Hilda’s later work, it was simple, and even rather crude, but Marianne valued it more than a million more polished pieces.

She wore earrings made by Hilda’s hands, a necklace as well. A bracelet, locked around her slender wrist. All of it from Hilda, of course. Marianne never wore a piece made by anyone else. Why would she, when Hilda had made these treasures just for her?

Hilda took her hand, then, and smiled at the ring on her finger. It matched the hair ornament, but had been made years later, with far more skill. The tiny flower was so delicately crafted that Marianne feared wearing it, certain she would knock it against something and ruin it. But tonight she’d wanted it. Tonight she needed it on her finger.

After all, it had arrived alongside a letter containing an admission of Hilda’s love.

“And this,” Hilda said, raising her head, the smile on her face more beautiful than anything else in the room, “_really_ suits you.”

Marianne felt her cheeks flush then, and knew she was turning a deep red. But she didn’t care.

Ever since that letter, and her hesitant response (hesitant only because even now Marianne was _sure_ Hilda could do better, though she also felt sure no one could ever love Hilda more than Marianne did), she had been waiting for this day. The day they would be reunited.

She wished she were clever with words, that she could say something flirtatious in response. But that had never been something Marianne was good at, and she found herself only smiling, overwhelmed, and saying, “it’s so beautiful.”

“It has to be, to come anywhere close to matching you.” From anyone else that might have sounded insincere, but Hilda had a way of saying these things - light, sweet, impossible to brush off.

Marianne was never going to stop having pink cheeks, at this rate. But that was just part of the price of being around Hilda, and one she would gladly pay.

“Come on,” Hilda said with a smile, “I’ll show you around.” She let go of Marianne’s hand, and Marianne was both grateful (she really _had_ to stop blushing) and sorry. She couldn’t find the words to express that, though - over the years, she had by necessity gotten better at speaking to people, but when her emotions were high it could still be difficult.

So instead she followed Hilda, and listened to her talk, and enjoyed every moment of it.

Hilda described the creation of the works of art that were on display. She told Marianne who had made them, where they had come from, how they had come to one of her artisan schools to hone their talent. Some were from the best of students, some from teachers, some from successful graduates. Some were useful, some no more than incredible works of art, but each piece was beautiful, each in an entirely different way.

None could hold a candle to what Hilda made, of course.

There were others there - prominent businessmen from the area, some of Hilda’s other patrons, heads of important families. Marianne supposed that she was the guest of honor, being Hilda’s very first patron and the noble in whose territory this school was being opened. Surely that was why Hilda was staying by her side, rather than circulating and charming everyone else in the room. 

Or so Marianne told herself, in an attempt to calm her heart. Having Hilda so close after so long was overwhelming.

They had seen each other since the war, of course, but rarely. After things had settled and rebuilding had progressed, Marianne had returned home, and Hilda - Hilda had pursued her dreams. For all her protestations that she could not abide hard work, Marianne had watched from afar as she worked to make her ideas into reality. First with small things, accessories made by her own hands, and then with larger ones - the artisan schools, dotted across the land, making incredible things.

All because of Hilda.

They’d written to each other the whole time, with no break in correspondence. It didn’t seem to matter how busy Hilda was (and she had to have been busy), she always found time to set pen to paper. They had visited in person from time to time, brief meetings when Marianne could make the journey to the school in Derdriu. Every time they met ended up being the highlight of Marianne’s year.

There was just something about Hilda that drew Marianne to her. There always had been, since the very beginning, since they were at school together, but Marianne hadn’t truly understood what it was until years later. She’d held so tightly to her own pain, her own misery, that it had been hard to really look at anything else.

But Hilda had always drawn something different out of her. She’d made Marianne laugh, made her relax, made her feel happy and comfortable. Through school, through the war that followed, Hilda had always been a bright light in her life.

So maybe it was inevitable that when the war was over, when they found their own paths, her feelings would begin to make themselves evident.

The letters made it easy. When she didn’t have to look Hilda in the face, it was so much easier to express herself. And so she did, leading to a long correspondence that slowly became more and more intimate, with their rare face-to-face visits only serving to remind Marianne of everything about Hilda that amazed her.

And then, finally, she’d admitted her feelings. By then, Marianne thought they had both known for months - maybe longer. But she’d needed the time to get there on her own, and Hilda had known her well enough to let her have that time.

And in return, the letter. The ring. And now Hilda was here by her side, and Marianne found it hard to pay attention to anything else.

Hilda lead her through the school, teeming with other guests, and then upstairs, where there were fewer people and less beautiful pieces of art - though even here, there were treasures in display cases, or hanging upon the wall. 

Marianne knew that Hilda, at least, liked to see her accessories in use rather than simply on display somewhere, but she supposed that in order to draw teachers and students and patrons it was necessary to have exhibits like these. Marianne liked looking at them, at least - though she’d been flustered when some of the guests downstairs had stopped to admire the ones she was wearing.

It was a constant struggle, wanting to do Hilda’s creations justice while not enjoying attention, especially from strangers. Once they were out of the crowd Marianne felt her shoulders relax, felt her smiles come easier.

“And this,” Hilda said, pushing open the door to a room and ushering Marianne in, “is my office.”

“_Your_ office?” Marianne said, pausing in surprise.

“Didn’t I say?” But Hilda was smiling the way she always used to when she’d successfully managed to trick someone. “I’ll be the headmistress here.”

“But-” Marianne could barely put her thoughts in order. “You’re the headmistress at the Derdriu school!” In a large city, more centrally located, the first she’d established. Hilda had traveled all over Fódlan in the last few years, establishing schools everywhere she went, staying for a handful of months to get them set up and then leaving them in the hands of a competent administrator. She’d never stayed to run any but the first, the Derdriu school.

Hilda waved a hand, brushing that off as if it were nothing. “They make me do _so_ much work! I had to get out of there.” 

As if Marianne didn’t know how capable Hilda was, how hard she worked when it was something she loved doing. Marianne felt a smile creep onto her lips, just a tiny one.

“I needed to get away from that busy city,” Hilda said,and reached out, catching Marianne’s hands in her own. Marianne felt a thrill, found she couldn’t look away as Hilda turned to face her. “Besides,” she said, “I made a promise that I intend to keep.”

_I love you,_ the letter had read. _Wear this ring and I’ll be by your side._

Marianne had thought it was metaphorical. Which was foolish of her, now that she thought about it - for all her dramatics, Hilda’s words, when she meant them, had never been empty.

She felt herself flush as Hilda leaned in, and then they were kissing. Hilda’s lips were soft and sweet, and her scent filled Marianne’s senses until she felt as if she could nearly swoon. 

It wasn’t their first kiss - that had happened some time ago, as Marianne was figuring out her own feelings, on a trip to Derdriu. Hilda had written her afterwards saying, _I keep thinking about your lips_, and Marianne had felt like she could die in that moment - and she didn’t know if it would be from happiness or embarrassment.

Happiness had won out. It won out now, too.

She was warm and smiling when they finally separated, still flushed but no longer embarrassed by it. Hilda was staying. Hilda was staying _here_, a place Marianne could reach with nothing more than an impulse and a short ride, not like the days-long journeys to Derdriu she’d had to take.

It hadn’t been their first kiss, but it felt like the beginning of something new.

“This is really your office?” she said, and though she knew Hilda heard it for what it was - _you’re really staying?_ \- the other woman answered simply, with a wide, beautiful smile.

“Doesn’t it look like mine?” Hilda stepped back and opened her arms, turning in a slow circle, and for a moment she looked so much like the young girl Marianne had met before the war.

They were both older now, harder, perhaps wiser. But Hilda still shone like the sun.

Marianne looked around then, and had to admit that it did, in fact, look like a room that belonged to Hilda. Maybe a little neater.

Windows along the back wall gave what would surely be splendid views of the school’s gardens in daytime. They were framed by curtains in lush fabrics that Marianne had no doubt were made by graduates of the other schools, the embroidery (flowers, curls, and was that a deer?) was so fine. 

Though there were bookshelves lining the walls, and a fair amount of books on them, they also held a number of beautiful objects for display - jewelry, a small sculpture that seemed to also be a water pitcher, a cunningly leather-worked pouch shaped like a rose. Some were clearly from Hilda’s hand, others unfamiliar but beautiful.

The desk and chair were the same, as useful as they were beautiful, and Marianne had always been amazed at how perfectly Hilda’s life’s work fit her. Things that were so beautiful they seemed like they were meant for nothing more than to be admired - but that hid some amazing use, even if it was only adorning the neck of a noblewoman in love.

Wasn’t that just as important a use as anything else?

Her fingers rose to brush the necklace around her own neck, one of many beautiful things Hilda had given her. Each one cherished. Each one bringing joy to her heart far beyond its mere beauty.

“It suits you perfectly,” Marianne said, and she found herself smiling. She smiled more easily these days, with the horrors of the war behind them, with their friends settling into peaceful lives and finding happiness.

“You know, I really thought so, so I’m glad you agree.” Hilda was smiling, too, but a smile had never seemed far from her lips. 

She was so beautiful. Marianne couldn’t resist stepping forward and pulling her into another kiss. This time, Hilda’s mouth opened beneath hers, drawing them both deeper. Hilda’s tongue slid against hers, and Marianne felt a shiver down her spine and a warmth in her belly.

“Won’t they miss you downstairs?” Marianne said when they parted, and Hilda shrugged. They were both flushed now.

“They’ve got plenty to look at, and I’ve got a fleet of our incoming teachers and students to keep everyone occupied. Why? Do you want a tour of the upstairs?”

“No,” Marianne said, and she knew her cheeks had to be as red as apples now. But she took Hilda’s hand and brought it to her lips, and she knew what she wanted - she only had to say it. That had never been easy for Marianne, but hadn’t she laid everything out in her letters already? Hadn’t she spent late nights thinking only of Hilda, her hand slipping beneath the sheets? “I want you.”

The look on Hilda’s face was gratifying. It wasn’t often that Marianne managed to surprise her. “Here?”

“I don’t want to wait any longer.” Marianne’s voice was soft, but her words were certain. They’d kissed before, yes, and she’d cupped Hilda’s breasts, slid a finger over her nipple, felt her gasp. But they’d never gone further.

Not in person. Their letters had been something entirely different.

And now, with Hilda in front of her, looking so beautiful Marianne could hardly believe it, all she wanted was to make those words a reality.

Hilda’s eyes brightened, her lips curled into a smile, and she pulled Marianne to her again. They kissed, and they kissed again, Hilda’s lipstick leaving traces of itself on Marianne’s lips, her cheek, her neck. 

Marianne found herself pressed against the desk, and she wasn’t sure how she’d gotten turned around except that Hilda was so intoxicating she felt like the room could spin and she’d barely notice. She rested her hand on Hilda’s waist, feeling like she was being greatly daring despite all the liberties they’d already taken with each other, and Hilda smiled at her.

“You haven’t done this before, right?” Hilda’s voice wasn’t mocking, the way some part of Marianne had feared - though of course she knew Hilda wasn’t like that, could never be like that, Marianne sometimes couldn’t stop herself from fearing the worst. She shook her head, trying not to be embarrassed.

“Oh, well,” Hilda said, and she sounded happy - excited, even. “I guess I’ll have to do _all_ the work and teach you, then.”

Marianne giggled - she couldn’t stop herself, not with that look on Hilda’s face. She tugged Hilda closer and kissed her again. “I’m ready to learn.”

That was all the encouragement either of them needed. Hilda slid her hand over Marianne’s hip, up her waist, and further, until she could tug the strap of Marianne’s dress off her shoulder. Another dress might have been more confining, more difficult to deal with, but Marianne had dressed simply - the grey dress was unencumbered, maybe even more like a shift than anything. She’d meant it as a blank canvas to show off Hilda’s beautiful work, but now she was realizing it was far more useful than just that.

The bodice was loose now, and Hilda bent to press kisses across the top of Marianne’s breasts. Her other hand slipped beneath the shimmery fabric, and then beneath the firmer fabric of Marianne’s bra, fingers slipping between the bra and her skin. Marianne shivered at the touch, so intimate, so desired.

“I want you naked,” Hilda sighed, “but I think that’ll have to wait for another time. Somewhere more comfortable, where I can undress you in peace.”

Just the thought of _another time_ was incredible, but Marianne knew it was true. She shifted against the desk behind her, suddenly aware that she was wet. “I want that too,” she whispered, and was rewarded by Hilda’s smile.

“You look gorgeous,” Hilda said. Marianne slipped her arm out of her dress, shivering as the bodice fell lower. Hilda’s clever fingers stretched across her back, unhooked her bra, and then Hilda was bending down to take Marianne’s nipple in her mouth. She brushed teeth across sensitive skin, then wrapped her lips around it and sucked until Marianne was gasping.

She’d touched herself before, and Hilda had touched her a little, but she’d never been touched like this.

Blushing, she reached down and caught the fabric of her skirt, tugging it up. “I…” She wasn’t sure how to verbalize what she wanted, and Hilda pulled back to meet her eyes.

“Stop me if I do anything you don’t like, okay?” Hilda always somehow seemed to know exactly what Marianne needed. She always had. Now, her slim fingers slid up Marianne’s thigh, so slowly - and then Marianne felt them brush against the fabric of her panties.

She was damp there, she knew, and she thought for a moment she should be embarrassed. But Hilda’s smile of pleasure washed any possible embarrassment away. Hilda’s fingers caught the lacy edge of Marianne’s panties, and then she was tugging them down. The damp fabric pulled away, and with her skirt held up the way it was, Marianne felt - exposed. Deliciously so.

“Hey,” Hilda said, her voice soft, intimate. “Remember our letters? I’ve thought about this a lot.”

Marianne did remember the letters. She remembered how remarkably explicit Hilda had gotten, apparently with very little shame. She remembered how flushed she’d gotten after reading them. She remembered touching herself, feeling pleasure arc through her body. Because of Hilda.

And now this, and just thinking about it made Marianne want to squirm with desire. Then she was squirming - or tensing, actually, a gasp falling from her lips as Hilda’s fingers slid between her slick folds. It felt foreign, it felt strange, almost too intimate - and then Hilda’s fingers brushed her clit, and it felt incredible.

“Oh, _Goddess_,” Marianne said, and she was sure she ought not to take Seiros’ name in vain at a time like this, except she couldn’t stop herself. Hilda pressed closer, grinning, and captured Marianne’s lips in a sweet, hungry kiss.

“You can keep calling me that if you want, but Hilda’s okay too,” she said, and Marianne couldn’t stifle her giggle. Hilda cupped her breast, and then her other hand moved again, thumb circling over Marianne’s sensitive clit, drawing a wordless moan from her. Marianne could not help thinking of Hilda’s hands, delicate but strong, her flawless nail polish on the nails she kept sensibly short, for her crafting and - well.

Hilda slipped a finger inside of her, and Marianne’s body welcomed it, slick and hungry. She was sure she was practically dripping by now, thighs wet with her own juices, and so, so sensitive.

“I want to taste you,” Hilda said then, and Marianne was sure she was about to lose her entire mind. Those words, Hilda’s voice - 

“_Yes_,” she said, and Hilda grinned, and then she was sinking downwards.

Marianne held onto her skirt with one hand and gripped the edge of the desk with the other, feeling like her knees were about to give out. She felt Hilda’s lips on her thighs, kissing the soft skin there, and then - 

Then Hilda’s mouth was on her, warm and wet and perfect.

She didn’t seem to feel any hesitation about what she was doing. Her lips and tongue explored Marianne’s pussy with unfettered hunger, Marianne’s gasping moans serving to urge her on until the moment she found Marianne’s clit.

_That_ drew a soft cry from Marianne’s lips, and she unconsciously moved her hips, pressing her need against Hilda’s mouth. The sweet shock of pleasure that rocked through her was almost too much already.

“Hilda - please -”

She didn’t know if her words had urged Hilda on or if they were only encouragement for what she’d been planning to do already. Whatever it was, Hilda slid another finger inside her and renewed her delicious assault on Marianne’s center. Her fingers fucked into Marianne in smooth, sure strokes, her mouth fixed on Marianne’s clit, licking and sucking and driving her absolutely over the edge.

Marianne would have been shocked by the sounds she was making, if she’d been able to think. But the only thing in her world was Hilda, Hilda’s hands, Hilda’s head between her thighs, Hilda’s mouth on her, and the pleasure of it. It crested higher and higher, a wave Marianne couldn’t control, and then she was crying out as an orgasm crashed over her.

She felt it through her entire body, somehow so much _more_ than when she’d done it to herself. Even more incredibly, Hilda didn’t stop. She teased at Marianne’s clit still, fingers working inside her, and before Marianne even realized it Hilda was bringing her to another peak, a shivery and pure thing.

She was lucky, then, that she’d been holding on to the edge of the desk the whole time. Her knees _had_ given out, and that was the only thing keeping her up.

Only then did Hilda stop, pulling back and kissing Marianne’s thigh again before making her way up Marianne’s body. She felt oversensitive in the best of ways, and when Hilda ran her tongue over Marianne’s nipple, that alone was almost too much.

“What about you -” Marianne said, and then she felt herself flush deeply as she got a look at Hilda. Her hair, previously perfect, was messy and disarranged thanks to Marianne’s movements, her hips, her thighs. Her lips was smudged, her lips and mouth and chin slick with Marianne’s own fluids.

And she didn’t seem to mind at all.

Marianne pulled her close, then, and kissed her, and she could taste herself on Hilda’s lips. She wondered if Hilda would taste like that, too, and she wanted to find out. She wanted that badly.

Hilda took her hand and pulled it between them, showing Marianne where to touch. Her dress was in two parts, a skirt and a bodice, making it easy for Marianne’s hand to slide beneath the fabric of the skirt and then down, down to where Hilda lead her, down between Hilda’s legs.

Marianne was awfully pleased to find that Hilda was at least as wet as she had been.

“I really don’t need much,” Hilda said, and she smiled, and she showed Marianne just where to touch her, positioning her fingers with the ease of someone who - while she might complain - was, in fact, an excellent teacher. “Ah - right there -”

Marianne knew her hands weren’t as clever as Hilda’s, knew that she fumbled like someone who’d never done this before, but Hilda didn’t seem to mind at all. She moved against Marianne’s hand, and Marianne found the part of her that made her moan and arch and cry out. It was a beautiful sight, impossibly so, and even more because Marianne thought, in that moment - _we can do this again_.

Again and again, as many times as they wanted, because Hilda was here now and they would never have to be apart for long.

Hilda came with a sweet moan, Marianne’s name on her lips, and Marianne pulled her close - just holding her, feeling the pleasure move through her body. The warmth of Hilda, her sweet scent now made complex by sex and need and desire. Marianne wanted this, wanted her, and for once she wasn’t afraid of any of that.

Forehead pressed against Marianne’s bare shoulder, Hilda simply breathed for a moment. Marianne slipped her hand out of Hilda’s skirt and, unable to resist, brought her fingers to her lips.

Hilda didn’t taste like her. Not exactly. She tasted better.

Hilda was looking at her now, a smile on her beautiful face. “I can’t believe it took us this long.”

Marianne could believe it. She’d needed time, and Hilda had given it to her, and now - now she no longer had any doubts.

“Was it worth the wait?” she asked, only for having the pleasure of hearing Hilda’s answer: a sweet, genuine laugh.

“You would be worth any wait,” Hilda said, and she brushed her fingers against Marianne’s cheek, and they kissed.

It was only then that Marianne remembered where they were - what Hilda was supposed to be doing. “Your guests -” she said, blushing with the embarrassment of forgetting, well, everything except Hilda.

“They’ll just have to wait,” Hilda said with a shrug. “We can’t very well go down there looking like this, can we?”

Marianne’s dress was still halfway off, her underwear in a heap on the ground. Hilda, though still fully clothed, was no less of a mess. It was true. They really _couldn’t_ leave the room looking like this.

And, of course, Marianne didn’t really want to. She’d be perfectly happy, she thought, if the rest of the world was nothing but the two of them. She pulled Hilda close again, kissed her again, and thought of how many more kisses they could share. _Would_ share.

“Then I’ll keep you to myself,” she said softly. “Just for a little while longer.”

“Oh, listen to you,” Hilda said, and her smile was like the sun. “I’m turning you selfish.”

“Yes,” Marianne said, and she didn’t regret it, not even the tiniest bit.

Hilda was worth everything.


End file.
